Naypyidaw is a city of gilded palaces erected out of the jungle and linked by
the widest of highways, swept clean by a broom-wielding army.

At its heart is a golden temple to appease and honour the Gods. In case that is not enough to defray fate, an enclosure nearby is home to a pair of well-fed Albino elephants, beasts which are believed to be auspicious harbingers of national good fortune.

Naypyidaw, Burma’s capital, should be a city fit for a thriving population happy to wander around its extravagance. Instead – as The Daily Telegraph witnessed this week in a rarely sanctioned visit – it is an empty city, with barely a car on the road, and not a crowd to be seen.

Indeed Naypyidaw, or the home of kings, has emerged from virgin forests to stake a claim to be the world’s weirdest citadel in just a handful of years. Burma announced an overnight transfer of government offices 200 miles north from the historic capital Rangoon to Naypyidaw in 2005 to commence on the hour chosen by the then dictator Senior General Than Shwe’s personal astrologer. The development seemed to herald yet another step back for a country virtually destroyed since the military took power in a 1962 coup.

As grand buildings went up and civil servants were moved to provide what little population the city has, Naypyidaw became a symbol of the ageing autocrat’s willingness to squander Burma’s wealth to glorify his regime.

And, like ancient Xanadu and dozens of other citadels built to glorify one man, its flaws are his flaws. Today, all the main landmarks – most notably the presidential palace and parliament – are surrounded by a moat that can only be crossed by a series of bridges. A Western diplomat travelling here this week said Naypyidaw was so vast it could only be comprehended from space. “The only real way to get a sense of this place is from Google Earth,” he said. “Then you see the distance between the building, set far apart to survive air raids.”

All Naypyidaw’s roads lead eventually to Burma’s most powerful seat, but there is only desolation along the way. The only signs of life along mile after mile of empty highways are the straw-hatted street sweepers. The battle against the dust amounts to an unceasing demonstration that remoteness provides no insulation against reality. The master plan has, however, proved to be no guarantee against change from within.

Since the 77-year old general retired in March, his successors in Naypyidaw have already abandoned the obsessions that shaped the city. A reformer sits as the first occupant of the presidential palace and the parliament is braced for an influx of opposition democrats.

Last year a flawed election returned 435 members of Burma’s first sitting parliament in 25 years. But the opposition – which boycotted the elections – is now preparing to contest 48 by-elections. If all goes as hoped, the city will become the unlikely launching pad of Asia’s newest democracy.

The parliamentary trappings are already in place. Than Kywe, the deputy security director, is a secret policeman turned parliamentary aid. In the chamber of the lower house, he explains its legitimacy is symbolised by the mace placed on the rostrum. Next door in the speaker’s office a green gown similar to that worn by the Speaker of the House of Commons hangs on a suit rail. A copy of Parliament, a guide to procedure, traditions and protocol in the Mother of Parliaments, is well-thumbed on the desk.

Mr Than claims the experiment in democracy is far-reaching, with some members having carried pictures of the opposition leader, Aung San Suu Kyi, and her slain father Gen Aung San into the house.

“There are people here doing actions that I would have arrested them for a few months ago,” said the special branch detective. Burmese journalists posted to cover the sessions in the parliament claim a surprising amount of genuine debate has taken place, even though the military or its allies hold 88 per cent of seats.

“I didn’t expect it before I went up to Naypyidaw, but the MPs are really serious about their roles,” said a reporter at Eleven Weekly, the country’s most outspoken newspaper. “OK, so most don’t really know how to do the job yet, but most are determined to try.”

As parliament opens up to diplomats, its members have shown themselves eager to learn from abroad. Members of the public accounts committee are reported to be considering an offer of assistance from the Westminster Foundation, a public body that assists parliaments in developing countries, to draw up their own operational rules.

Amid the grotesque splendour of the showcase capital, the announcement raised the prospect that the descent of

a clutch of pin-striped Sir Humphreys would subvert Gen Than’s dreams in the very marble halls that he erected to safeguard his legacy.